Another soul-healing night last night. We played incredibly well. Some nights are like that. Everything turns into magic without much effort. It feels like that often. Butch, David, and Jason kill me every night… solid gold lightning strike after lightning strike… they’re amazing. Anyway, I was spent… exhausted… like I’d just finished working a 15 hour shift… and it was time to get home… I’m always a little nervous driving at 2:30 or 3 in the morning… this is the bewitching hour, or the worst time to be out on the road when all the hounds are released from the bars and are sent home at the exact same time… it’s not the smartest time to be out cruising… sort of like Russian roulette…

After 25 minutes of driving, I was nearly home. The 405 freeway is like a ghost town at this hour from all the late night closures and road construction… all of the sudden, flashing red & blue lights hit my rear view mirror… and a couple police cars pulled me off the freeway into a deserted industrial part of town… with all my windows rolled down, both hands firmly gripping the steering wheel in plain view, the blinding bright spotlight hitting me in the back of the head, I could hear the footsteps of two officers approaching from both sides of my car… both maintaining a safe distance, like I was some kind of wanted fugitive…

After burning his flashlight in my face for a few seconds, and after fumbling for my license, and not being able to find my insurance card, the officer began his interrogation…

Policeman: Did you know you were weaving all over the place back there on the freeway… hitting both lines…
Me: No, sir. I’m sorry about that.
Policeman: Where are you coming from?
Me: Hollywood, sir. I’m heading home from work.
Policeman: What is your job?
Me: I’m a folksinger, sir.
[pause]
Policeman (handing back my license): You have a good night, take it easy.

DES MOINES, IA – Police Encounter #4
After the show tonight, I got to spend some quality time relaxing at the local hipster establishment, an art gallery/cocktail bar… hung out, played table tennis (?!?!) til 2am… so lovely… doubles mostly. Shaina and I killed it and left the place burning in flames (sorry Jamie and Joel). We then strolled through the outdoor park of art and sculpture exhibits, deciding what each piece of gut-wrenching, important work truly meant and what the artists were trying to convey from their flowering, tortured souls.

As it turns out, appreciating art at 2 in the morning is not appreciated in Des Moines. We apparently set off silent alarms on our art stroll…. within a couple minutes, half the Des Moines police force was surrounding us. We were properly chastised and escorted to the perimeter and told we’d have to complete the art tour from the outside looking in.

Finally made it home, and stayed up til 6am representing… in an intense and serious competition of “Connect 4″… Another one for the team… Los Angeles – 5, Des Moines – 4… Boo-ya!

IDAHO – Police #3
As you motor down the state of Idaho, there isn’t a central thoroughfare or easy, big freeway connecting the towns. One minute you’re cruising through the mountains on a 65 mph road, then suddenly jet braking for a tiny town with a 35 mph speed limit… for a mile… then back to the 65 mph…. rinse… repeat…

I got pulled over by a behemoth unmarked 4×4 truck in a super small, Dukes of Hazard town (but without the Daisy Dukes)… it seems driving 71 mph in a 35 mph zone is not acceptable in Idaho…

In between all my “Yes, Sirs” and “No, Sirs,” I tried charming Officer Weiner with my “Folk Singer” defense. It did not work. Apparently, Idaho doesn’t care about the arts or romantic troubadours or true heroes who save people’s lives… and I got a ticket to ride… a ticket for $101… thank you Portland (giveth)… thank you Idaho (taketh away)…

Fresno, CA – Police #2
After a fantastic evening with my new Fresno friends, I decided to hoof it, not sleep in any hotels, just drive on. It was one in the morning and I thought I could get to my family’s place outside of Sacramento. Only a few hours away, should be easy….

An hour and a half later, blinking red lights in my rear view mirror told me to pull over… a kind officer came to my window and went through the entire routine of getting to know me, asked all the right questions, checked all my right papers.

“I’m a folk-singer, Sir.” and I went on to dress up and describe my folky life in 30 seconds…

He kindly suggested I drive 2 miles up the road to the next rest area and get some sleep, said that he had been following me for the past few miles and that I was all over the road, swerving and weaving. I didn’t remember that, but I took his word for it… and followed his advice… drove with all the windows down to the next exit… and slept til morning…

Seaside, CA – Police Encounter #1
The tour is kicking off with a bang… the first show was in Seaside tonight… just outside Monterey…

I had arranged to stay with a dear friend after the concert… one of my oldest friends ever… it was past midnight and he said he had to go to bed early… told me his son, Billy, would let me in when I arrived.

They live in a gated TOWN, it seems. Once you get through the giant, pass-coded gate, there are still a few miles of driving… through green hills and winding, super-wide roads before you get to the house. There is so much open space that it feels like driving through one of those new, home development communities, where they only have model homes to show you how your own house will look someday, as soon as they build it…

After gliding up and through all the hilly hills and the great expanse of pregnant dreams, I finally reached their string of houses. It was dead silent in the middle of nature, in the middle of the night. I unloaded all my bags and gear and things with several trips up to the porch, thinking it would be easier and more polite to be able to walk in with everything at once.

I knocked a few light, happy taps. Nothing. Peeked in through their 15-foot high, double-door window panes, and could see a flickering tv light in the living room. “Wonderful!” I thought. “Billy has fallen asleep in front of the tv!”

More knocking. Waiting. No response. I then walked out in front of the house and saw Billy’s bedroom, above the garage. Another tv flickering. “Wonderful! Billy forgot about me, and is watching tv in his bedroom!”

I picked up several wood chips from the flowerbed, and hurled them gently to tap his window. Nothing. No response.

Back to the front door for more knocking. Still nothing. It had now been 20 minutes, and I HAD to somehow wake Billy without waking the entire family…

I went around the side of the house, reached over the tall gate to unlatch the padlock, and snuck, ninja-like, back to the kitchen window where I could see the blaring, theater-size tv. “Tap, tap, tap.” Several more rounds of tapping. No response.

FINALLY, I could see Billy’s rustling shadow as he made his way to the sliding glass door where I stood on the backyard patio. The curtains shimmied a bit as he struggled to get the door unlocked and open. No outside lights came on as I waited in the pitch dark.

Then, in slow motion, a figure appeared. It was not Billy. I thought it might be a visiting uncle or friend of the family… he was taller and bigger than Billy (and me).

Strange Uncle: “Who are you?” this sleepy-eyed figure groggily asked.
Me: “Who are YOU?” I returned with a smile. “Where’s Billy?”
Strange Uncle: “Billy? Who’s Billy?”

I said, “Isn’t this the Varney’s house?”

Strange Uncle: “VARNEY… Who’s Varney??”

I now realized I was in the backyard, in the pitch dark, in the middle of the night… of someone else’s house… in someone else’s gated community…

He said he was a police officer, flashed his badge, and wanted to see my I.D.
(fair enough, I thought).
I explained how I must have mixed up their houses (they all truly looked exactly the same), how all my bags were on his front porch, and that my I.D. was in my car, now parked in his driveway… he almost believed me, and walked me back around to the front of the house. I packed up my car (Officer Dan did not offer to help), and drove up the street.

Officer Dan was already there waiting… (it felt like I had pulled up to a murder crime scene in one of those television crime shows where everything is roped off with yellow tape and only the official homicide detectives are allowed through)… along with a wide-awake, happy-faced Billy… he had obviously already interrogated Billy and verified my colorful alibi.

I shook Officer Dan’s hand, laughed a little at what a crazy and hilarious hijinx adventure we had just been through together… Officer Dan did not laugh… but kindly bid me a good night with his curt, policeman no-nonsense demeanor, and I apologized for spooking him out of his sleep in front of his tv.

What a perfect first night of the tour…

West Virginia
As I pulled in to Oakland, WV (a small town next to Thomas), I was coasting down a long hill, and a tiny Volvo pulled out into the road, going about half my speed…. I couldn’t believe the nerve and rude disregard, and I almost smashed her from behind… I slammed a heavy-handed, California-righteous-indignation-horn-blast as I swerved and dodged to the right, narrowly missing her…

After a couple minutes of therapeutic green-tree driving, my nerves had calmed down and I had forgiven her of all her trespasses. I was letting bygones be bygones, enjoying the free nature, when I saw the flashing red and blue lights in my rearview mirror… ugh… I wasn’t sure why I was getting pulled over, but all the soon-to-be ramifications and outcomes were racing through my head…. how much money was this ticket going to cost…. how would this effect the bottom line of the tour… how many albums would I have to sell to make up for the loss…

While I was doing the math, the police officer approached my window…

Officer: “Do you realize you passed that car back there on the right side?”

Michael: “Yes, sir. I did not want to crash into the oncoming traffic, sir.”

Officer: “If you hadn’t been SPEEDING, you wouldn’t have had to worry about that. You were going 50 in a 40 mph zone.” and he walked back to his car with my license and registration….

I could see in my mirror, another police car had come up behind, and the second officer got out and joined him at his car.

10 minutes later he came back to my window.

Officer: “What are you doing here in town, where are you headed?”

Michael: “I am going to Thomas, sir… to play a concert.”
motioning with my hands, like I was strumming guitar…

Officer: “Oh, you’re playing at the Purple Fiddle?”

Michael: “Yes, sir.”

Officer: “Ah, are you a folk singer?”

In that split second, I had a flash of a dilemma…. and wondered what the correct answer was supposed to be…. Am I a folk singer? “Hell NO! How dare you!” Am I a folk singer? “Hell, yes! Now kiss my pinky ring.”

But then it hit me… right there… right in that moment… a personal revelation like a bright light, Pualine conversion. It didn’t matter what he wanted to hear… I thought, “Hmm, I guess, I am… I am a vagabond, troubadour folk singer…” and with the inspired conviction of a first-time visitor at an AA meeting, I decided to go all in, own it, and let the chips fall where they may…

Michael: “Yes, sir…. I *AM* a folk singer…”

He paused… kept chewing the inside of his cheek… and slowly looked back towards his car… then leaned in a little closer and peaked up over his sunglasses…

Officer: “Well, I’m going to give you a warning this time.” He scribbled a little on his pad, and handed me a “warning” ticket. “You have yourself a good show tonight, and watch your speed.”

I might have been a little delirious from the sudden release of all the bottled up, steam-pressure stress, combined with a day’s worth of driving… but as I drove off, all my turrets syndrome happiness exploded and I sang with giddy glee the entire rest of the way to the show…

Brooklyn, NY….. Last night I got back at about 4am, and moved my car around the corner to the next block. It was street cleaning day later in the morning, so I felt pretty good about being so smart and pro-active and got a solid night’s sleep…

I woke up and packed all my bags, mentally prepared myself for my 10-hour drive ahead to Ohio and Kentucky… and went out to load up and….

gone… car gone. wait…. wrong street? wrong block? walked to each end of the street… no… car gone…

Called and checked with NYPD to find out it was thankfully (?) towed… not stolen…
I had apparently parked it in a bus zone… no curbs marked… no pavement markings… no signs… I was supposed to just “know”… spent the rest of the day trying to get it out of the impound/tow yard… more comedy and drama at the NYPD station… long lines (of city revenue) and stress, watching others getting denied their car, throwing tantrums at the bullet-proof glass windows, flying into uncontrolled rages… it was Friday, afterall… and getting closer to 5:30pm… and all I could think about was the possibility of not getting to leave with my car… and it being trapped all weekend…. and me having to cancel the rest of the shows of the tour…

I finally made it to the bullet-proof window, and indeed there was a problem… a big problem… I had no I.D. (it was in my car) but the nice NYPD lady told me about a loop-hole, a way I could get around the problem… somebody else in line could sign for my car… a kind gentleman and his granddaughter… I am still not sure why that lady was so kind and helpful to me after all the yelling in her face she just endured… but I got my car… got on the road… and drove all night… drove fast and far away from New York… the tour is not canceled! The show must go on…